Arthur Carey stood like a lone figure carved from ancient stone, the mist curling at his feet, the earth thrumming beneath his heels. Before him loomed the steel monster — the futuristic cannon that the Dutchman’s men had dragged into the heart of Shamballa. Its elongated, alien muzzle glowed with a cold, humming light.
Dutchman’s sharp voice sliced through the tension.
“Fire!!”
The weapon screamed to life. A streak of blue-white plasma erupted from the barrel, cutting through the mist like a blade of light. Arthur raised his staff instinctively, slamming it into the ground with both hands.
A dome of golden energy bloomed around him, the ancient protector meeting modern death head-on.
The impact was immediate. The plasma beam hit the shield like a hammer striking glass, rippling again
